Wonderwall
by burnithot
Summary: Their relationship has never been black and white. It's always been a bit chaotic, to say the least. And throughout the years that they have known each other, they have shared many different kinds of kisses. Series of one-shots. Rating may change.
1. Hand kisses

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Secret Life of the American Teenager or the title of this story, which was inspired by the song of the same name by Oasis.

**Author's note:** I was inspired to write this little one-shot based off a picture on tumblr. I actually plan for this to be a collection of one-shots; each one will involve different types of kissing. Hopefully this holds you over while I continue writing my other fics. Don't worry, I promise I haven't abandoned them! As always, reviews are lovely and always appreciated. Oh, and if you couldn't tell, this is based off the most recent episode.

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Hand kisses

She's giggling madly, like a young schoolgirl, but he doesn't mind—okay, so maybe he kind of, sort of finds it a tiny bit adorable.

As he starts driving, she snatches his hand and kisses it. When she pulls back, she's still giggling.

He can't help but smile. He doesn't know much, but he does know that he loves this girl, and he can't remember the last time he felt so… content.

He isn't quite sure how to convey his feelings into words, so he simply grabs her hand and brushes his lips against it. He sneaks a glance at her as he does so, and she smiles big and looks at him as if he holds the stars in his hands.

Her fingers affectionately run through his hair before turning on the radio. She isn't exactly the greatest singer on the face of the planet, but nonetheless, she turns up the volume and sings along.

"_And all the roads we have to walk are winding, and all the lights that lead us there are blinding," _she belts out. _"There are many things that I would like to say to you, but I don't know how…"_

With a wide grin plastered on his face, he joins in. _"Because maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me…"_

She giggles again. _"And after all, you're my wonderwall…"_

He sighs, but it's one of pure happiness, and he thinks to himself that he could get used to this.

_"I said maybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me, and after all, you're my wonderwall,"_ she continues, half-laughing as she stumbles over the lyrics.

He decides that yeah, he could definitely get used to them being Mr. and Mrs. Underwood.


	2. Forehead kisses

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Secret Life of the American Teenager or the title of this story, which was inspired by the song of the same name by Oasis.

**Author's note:** So, these one-shots will not be in chronological order. They will also be somewhat AU, though I'm not sure yet how drastic the differences will be. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the latest edition to _Wonderwall_. Reviews are always lovely and my inspiration to continue!

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Forehead kisses

She looks downright exhausted.

Her face is paler than he's ever seen it, and her hair is a mess, and her eyes are closed, though they do flutter open as he walks into the room.

He licks his lips and anxiously rubs his neck. "Hi," he chokes out.

"Hi." Her tired hazel eyes are focused, unwavering, on him, and then, out of nowhere, she offers him a tiny smile.

He is amazed. She's smiling at him, and he cannot fathom as to why, seeing as he's just put her through hell and back.

Ashley nudges him so that he's forced to take a few steps forward, closer to where she lays. "She looks like crap, huh?"

Looking at Ashley as if she's just sprouted an extra head, he mutters a barely audible no. No, he doesn't think she looks like crap.

She's the most beautiful girl in the world, and he's never loved her more. (Not that he would ever admit that to anybody, not even himself.)

"Shut up, Ashley," she says tiredly, but the smile never leaves her face. In fact, it only grows as her gaze fixates on something past his shoulder.

Curiously, he turns around. A nurse walks into the room and over to her bed, a tiny blue bundle cradled in her arms. "Would you like to meet your son?" she asks her.

As the nurse transfers the bundle into Amy's arms, he thinks numbly, _A son. I have a son._

He goes back to staring at her. She looks down at the bundle with a brilliant smile lighting up her face. Swallowing his fear, he approaches the edge of her bed to stand beside her and peers down at the bundle.

The first thing he thinks is that the baby has super chubby cheeks. But then it hits him. Really hits him. That's _his _baby she's holding. That's _his_ son.

Amy hesitates, and then without a word, lifts her arms up. His instincts scream at him to back away and run for the hills. He isn't ready for this. He isn't ready to be a father.

Instead, he whispers, "What if I drop him?"

Her voice is soft and calm and reassuring. "You won't."

Maybe it's because she has so much faith in him, or maybe it's because he doesn't want to look like a wimp, but he gathers his courage and carefully takes the baby into his arms.

Something bursts inside him. The feeling is warm and tingling and it's stronger than anything he's ever felt, stronger than even what he feels for Amy, which completely blows him away.

"Hi. I'm your daddy," he quietly tells the baby, who blinks at him in response.

He shifts the baby back into her waiting arms. She strokes his little cheek with her forefinger, and when the newborn baby clutches it with a small hand, he all but melts.

Without really thinking of what he's doing, he leans down and cups her face in his hands. Her wide hazel eyes stare up at him, startled, but she doesn't jerk away. So, still feeling warm and tingling, he gently presses a kiss to her forehead. "You did a good job, Amy," he murmurs softly as he pulls back.

"Thanks," she replies, just as softly.

Of course Ben decides to walk in that moment, but neither of them takes notice of him glaring daggers at the new little family. Amy is grinning madly and biting her lip the way she did when they first met, and a faint blush colors her cheeks. He, meanwhile, offers her his trademark smirk and plays it cool as he always does.

After all, he has to do _something_ to mask the erratic pounding of his heart.


	3. Stomach kisses

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Secret Life of the American Teenager or the title of this story, which was inspired by the song of the same name by Oasis.

**Author's note:** Hello readers! I wanted to post this one-shot before getting on an airplane tomorrow. I don't even know if I'll have Internet connection until Sunday, so yeah. Reviews are lovely and appreciated, as per usual, and I'm also interested in what kind of one-shot you'd be interested in next? Angsty? Fluffy? A bit more intimate? When Amy is pregnant? When John is insert-age-here? Please let me know! I hope you enjoy this one-shot. (Oh, and I certainly hope you all know what 'The Hug' is!)

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Stomach kisses

He doesn't quite know how he ends up in the living room of the Juergens' household. (Well, okay, so it probably has something to do with the fact that she called him up and asked him if he wanted to come over. Hah, as if he would ever turn her down.)

A few days have passed since The Hug. He is positive that she doesn't expect that he is a changed man overnight, but he knows that The Hug had been a significant turning point in their complex relationship. (He doubts it can even be called a relationship, but there is definitely a bond between them that surpasses the level of mere friendship, which is likely due to the fact that they are having a child together.)

He can't help but to wonder what he means to her. Not that he would ever admit it or anything, but she is easily the most special person in his life—yes, even more important to him than Adrian. (He cares for Adrian in a way, of course, though at the end of the day he knows that all they will ever be is bed buddies. Nothing more, nothing less.)

Clearly he has hurt her in many ways, which he will always regret, but he seems to be an expert on screwing everything up. When he first comes across her, a sweet, beautiful, captivating, innocent young girl, he immediately knows that there is something unique about his feelings for her. Although he can't deny that her silky hair and hazel eyes, wide with embarrassment, is enticing, the first thought in his mind is not explicit; rather, he wonders simply what she is like as a person. And when he does get to know her a bit, he realizes that she is unlike any girl he has ever met, and that realization scares him to no end.

He's only sixteen. He's not ready to commit to somebody else, not even a girl as lovely as she.

But he kisses her anyway, and she kisses back, and things quickly spiral out of his control. He hasn't planned on this, though, and for once he is unprepared, yet they continue on as he does what he does best: get the girl into bed. But she's not just another notch in his bedpost. She is special and different, and he knows it, and he's terrified, so he once again does what he does best: abandon the girl the following morning before she has even woken up. His reasoning is different, however. He doesn't leave because he doesn't care about her. He leaves because he cares too much, and he isn't ready for this.

"Yeah, look where that got you," he scoffs to himself.

"Where what got you?" a sweet voice chimes from behind.

He shakes his head dismissively before patting the empty seat of the couch beside him. "It's nothing, just reliving some memories," he answers. "Come on, let's watch the movie."

She carefully maneuvers herself into a sitting position, which appears to be semi-difficult task to her ever-growing stomach. "So, what's the choice of movie?" she asks while setting down a bowl of popcorn on the small coffee table in front of them.

Smirking, he says, "What do you think of _The Hangover_?"

"I've never seen it, although I've heard it's quite vulgar and inappropriate," she replies with a raised eyebrow.

"That's perfect. It's right up your alley." He casually wraps an arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer to him so that their thighs touch.

She opens her mouth, as if she's about to fire back a stubborn retort at his implication, but she instead rolls her eyes and resolves only to fold her arms across her chest. "Oh, whatever, just play the stupid movie," she mutters, a faint blush tinting her cheeks.

As the opening credits roll, he happens to reach for a handful of popcorn—incidentally, at the same time as Amy. Her fingers briefly brush against his before she recoils, mumbling something incomprehensible. He notices her cheeks only grow redder, and he suppresses the urge to let out a chuckle.

While one may have guessed that _The Hangover_ was not exactly Amy's type of movie, she continually burst out into a fit of giggles every other scene at whatever the actors did or said. He finds her laughter contagious and can't help but join in, in spite of the fact that he doesn't find it as hilarious the tenth time watching the film.

Suddenly, Amy sucks in a breath, and her hazel eyes widen. "Oh, wow," she breathes as she clutches her stomach.

"What's wrong?" he asks frantically, confused and worried for her. He wonders if the baby is coming, but he figures no, that can't be. She still has months to go!

After a few seconds, she shakes her head. "I'm fine. The baby kicked… He just caught me off guard, that's all," she calmly explains, a small smile on her face.

He stares in shock at her stomach. "He just kicked?" he repeats. He doesn't know why he is so awestruck. Maybe it's because Amy has never mentioned the baby kicking before.

Nodding, she confidently takes his hand and places it right on top of her stomach. He nearly flinches; never in a million years would he imagine Amy _wanting_ him to touch her stomach.

They wait for several moments, but he feels nothing. They exchange a disappointed glance, and she bites her lip, and he sighs. Just as he moves to pull away, however, he feels it. He feels the unmistakable thump of her baby— no, his baby— no, _their_ baby—kick against the palm of his hand. He pretends to not notice the tears swimming in her eyes while his own widen, an indescribable feeling spreading through him.

"Can I talk to him?" The words leave his lips the second the thought enters his mind. He looks away awkwardly, wondering if it sounds like a strange request.

Instead, her hand rests momentarily on his thigh as she murmurs a quiet, "Sure." Her voice is soft and meaningful; she speaks in the gentlest tone he has ever heard.

He gets off the couch to kneel between her legs, face-to-face with her stomach. Unsure of what to do or say, he hesitantly puts his hands on either side of her large belly. "Hi, Amy and mine's baby," he says. He hears a giggle above him. "I'm Ricky. I'm your dad. Your mom and I didn't exactly plan your existence, since we're still young ourselves, you know. But we're pretty glad that it happened. I guess… I guess I'm talking to you because I want you to know that you are loved very much. Your mom loves you. Your aunt Ashley loves you. Your grandparents love you. I love you, too, John. Your mom and I… we're thinking of putting you up for adoption, but nothing is set in stone yet. I also want you to know that if I do happen to be blessed with the privilege of raising you, I will do my best to be a great dad to you. So, um, yeah… bye."

Praying that he isn't crossing some sort of unspoken boundary, he places a gentle kiss on her stomach before finally resuming his position next to Amy on the couch. He places a little bit more of distance between them than there had been previously, and he finds his cheeks burning. (Frustrated, he wonders when he turned into such a freaking pansy.)

"John?" her wavering voice inquires.

He forces himself to look at her then. Her face is damp with tears, clearly moved by his words and by his actions, though her expression is perplexed. "I- uh- I was just looking through a baby book the other day… I liked the name," he mumbles with a half-hearted shrug.

"John," she slowly repeats, as if tasting it, rolling the name off her tongue. "I like John." A small smile brightens her features as he meets her gaze. Their eyes never falter once from one another, staring at each other in an intense silence while their long forgotten movie continues to play. He is mesmerized by her and is unwilling to break their moment.

Not even the classic hilarity of Zach Galifianakis can wrench his attention away from her. Really, he's all hers.


	4. Kisses in the dark

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Secret Life of the American Teenager or the title of this story, which was inspired by the song of the same name by Oasis.

**Author's note: **So this is where we get quite a bit AU, for this definitely drifts from the actual storyline on the show. This one-shot takes place during the season 2 finale Ben There, Done That. Hopefully you all understand what their little exchange regarding inevitability means. Also, if you're wondering how "far" they go... well, I'll leave that up to the reader's imagination! I hope you all like this most recent one-shot, and as always, reviews are much appreciated!

**+ _"The sound of a kiss is much softer than that of a canon, but its echo lasts a great deal longer."_ +**

Kisses in the dark

"_It'll just be you and me. Pack your bag, come over and spend the night. I'll sleep on the couch."_

It turns out that sleeping on the couch is a lot harder than he thought it would be.

He groans into his pillow and curses himself. Why can't he stop his all too creative mind from imagining what she might look like in her pajamas? "She'll be the death of me yet," he mutters, and he wonders if he'll even be able to get a wink of sleep tonight.

Just as he finds himself drifting off quite some time later, quiet footfalls cause him to become ridiculously alert. He knows that there's only one person who it could be. "Amy?" he whispers into the darkness.

The footfalls cease. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," her voice softly whispers back. (He sometimes kind of thinks the sound of her voice is warm and comfortable and welcomingly familiar.)

"You all right?" he asks gruffly, shifting into a sitting position on one end of the couch. His fingers are poised, ready to switch on the lamp at any moment.

"Mhmm." Her voice is so low that he just barely hears her, but he can sense her coming nearer. He can feel as she settles down on the opposite end of the couch. Unwittingly, he inches closer.

"It's inevitable, isn't it?"

Her voice, full of wonder, startles him out of the peaceful silence that had settled around them. His eyebrows pin together, and he hasn't the slightest clue as to what she means. "Amy?" he questions uncertainly. The girl all too close to him remains silent. He speaks again, curious and persistent. "Amy? Talk to me."

Caught off guard, he almost jerks away when her thumb gently traces along his jawline. Almost. Her breath fans across his face as she breathes, "I don't want to talk tonight," before leaning towards him.

And he doesn't know how it happened, but suddenly they're kissing, and _holy shit it has been far too long_ and _wow her lips are so incredibly wonderfully soft_.

It starts out all slow and sweet and innocent enough. However, she is all too compliant when his tongue slips into her mouth, and his body definitely reacts when she whimpers against his lips. His heart racing wildly in his chest, the blood roaring in his ears, he instinctively eases her backward. He half-expects her to smack him and run off, but much to his delight, she allows for her back to hit the couch without objection.

The rest of the night is a blur, and he spends it kissing Amy Juergens in the dark and wondering if he will ever get the chance to do this again.

When he wakes up the next morning to discover her sound asleep beneath him, he isn't quite sure what to do with himself. However, her eyes soon snap open, and she practically shoves him off so they can get ready for the wedding. It doesn't take long to get himself and his son dressed, so he tries—and fails—to be subtle as he watches her brush her teeth in her underwear and slip into her dress and tame her long, pretty ruffled hair. She rolls his eyes while he gawks, but he doesn't miss the small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Later, as they walk together at the wedding reception, he thinks he knows what she means now. So he flashes a smirk her way and boldly shatters the contented silence, agreeing, "You were right, you know… It _is_ inevitable."

He swears he's never seen such a beautiful smile.


End file.
